Tuesday, May 3, 2011
she loves the sunrise, no longer sees it with her sleeping eyes
but this morning, i woke early. i slipped on my flannel pants and fleece jacket. i read scripture on an old round, wooden table. the one passed down to me, with the drink rings, scratches and that one place i left the iron sit on for too long. i ate cheerios as i read, and drank pulp-less orange juice from a plastic cup splayed with my alma mater. i missed the pulp.
then i took my pilates mat outside. to our side porch. where the trees surround and our little white glider sits. there are still hooks in the ceiling where hanging baskets used to sway. and i laid my body down on the hot pink foam, and waited for the sun to come. and as i waited, i stretched. i moved. twisted. downward dogged. and i realized something:
the body knows.
it just knows. how to move and free itself, work out those kinks and pops and aches. and yes, classes are wonderful, and there's certainly something to be said about the motivation of a group atmosphere. but there's also something about the way the sun bounces off an elm tree. the way the fading night swirls into the clouds. the way my thick blue socks felt against the pavement.
and the way i was reminded. of the beautiful, complex work of art that our bodies are. i vowed to get up early tomorrow morning, and do it all over again. yes. prayer, cheerios, and sunrise salutations. i think a girl could get used to this.